Don't Look Back in Anger
by supercalifragilis
Summary: A continuation of "North and South", following Margaret and Mr. Thornton as a soon to be married couple.
1. Chapter 1

Don't Look Back in Anger

 _They talked softly for a long hour, about the progressive realization of their attachment. He told her of the time she left Milton and he thought he would never see her again, and it felt like his lungs were collapsing. All it would have taken, for him to renew his vows just then, would have been for her to look back at him from the carriage, he said, holding her hand in both of his. She chuckled softly, "and how did you know I did not, John?" She told him she had indeed looked, if privately and swiftly, and then closed her eyes in the midst of memories of the day everything had changed. "It took me a while to acknowledge that, regardless of my pride, it had been you I had come down to protect, you I had feared for, you I had wanted to embrace so instinctively." He looked at her then, with such intensity that she trembled. "When?" he asked, "When did you realize?" She paused to word her thoughts better, unraveling as she went: "Would it be strange to say that I always knew, even when I did not? You must have noticed that I would look at you often, expecting to be shocked or angered, but mostly, I think, craving the look you had sometimes, that made me jump out of my skin. At first, I was uncomfortable. It was improper for a man to look at me the way you did, and I perceived it was for all the wrong reasons. What I also perceived was how I reacted to it – I had never been conceited before, but I started searching for your eyes, wondering if they would be looking back at me. I did not think that eyes could say so much."_

It seemed, just like that, as if he had never been the Mr. Thornton she had first met and disliked so profoundly. How could she reconcile his anger, his dark energy, his pride, his rough ways with the oh so sweet and soft tone he had when he called her "Margaret"? She had never imagined that a man, merely calling her my her given name, could feel so foreign, and yet so intimate at the same time. Henry had called her Margaret, and she hardly even registered it as different or abnormal then. Now, in the quiet lull of the London house, as she remembered the way he had said it first, hoarse and trembling, she felt too warm for her covers, too agitated for sleep. It had felt like a firebolt through her spine. Would it be thus when they would be married? Would she feel connected to him by this invisible cord, merely for saying her name in such a unique way? It made her feel like a new Margaret. To be fair, she probably was.

It is not that she did not remember fondly, from a few hours before, the delicious minutes that had followed the mutual revelation of their love. She could not believe he could manifest such boldness, and tender restraint, at the same time. He was still kneeling then, devoted and adoring, and she held him the way she had, the fateful day her body had betrayed her feelings before her heart and mind had even begun to acknowledge them. She now felt the obscene intimacy of covering him thus with her whole body. As she could fully appreciate now, that position meant that her breast touched his chest. She wanted to stay that way forever. And then, he had leaned even closer, and had kissed her.

She would perhaps never sleep again.

Mr. Thornton had had to go to dinner at the place where he was staying. He was not aware of it perhaps, but he automatically put on the mask that he used in society, one of careful pride and occasional coldness. He reverted to stillness. Inside, everything was burning. All he could think of was the way she had responded to his kiss, her lips opening first, and then her whole body straining closer to his, her breast now crushed against his chest. He could still feel the burning stain of them through his clothes, all the way through to his wildly beating heart. Was it possible, he thought, that aside from the mere joy of her coming to accept him, and perhaps love him, already too much to bear, she would also be as passionate as he knew to be himself? He had long been fatigued by young women who pursued him, their feigned interest in his occupation, their coquetterie. He despised their futility from the high horse of his sense of self. He had long felt himself to be a passionate man, with fits of anger and happiness, coldness and warmth passing over him like uncontrolable waves. He knew what marriage was for, but had little interest in it. A wife should be his equal or not at all. Margaret had been different from the start, he had felt it deeply, as if she pulled all the right strings in his body, even if their minds dissonated so. He now could see what his body had known all along: that, should she desire him back, it would be ardently. He suddenly realized he had missed a great deal of the ongoing conversation around him, and vowed to focus more so as not to appear strange and incite questions he did not wish to answer. He needed to keep this for themselves just a few moments longer, as they had agreed. After that, they intended to be married as soon as it would be possible, allowed, and proper. The mere thought of it sent jolts of excitement into his every muscles. Deeply, Mr. Thornton was more content than he had ever thought to be in his life, at the thought that he would get to share it with such a superior woman, that he couldn't imagine ever loving more. Even more deeply, he smiled wickedly at the thought, he needed to be held tight against her breast, entangled in her hair, buried within her as soon as society would allow it.


	2. Chapter 2

They would tell her aunt that morning. Mr Thornton would visit them in a few hours, and they would announce it together. It had been just two days since what they now regarded as their becoming each other's, and Margaret had only seen Mr Thornton in company of other people, at a dinner the previous night. It was torture, for two souls already so intimate, to not be able to express their love and admiration for the whole world to see. She had managed to catch him for a few delightful minutes in the library, before the party took their leave, at a moment when the others were occupied elsewhere. He was leaning on the windowsill, looking out to the street, his mind racing about how to get Margaret alone for a few minutes. Taken out of his stupor, he felt two graceful arms embracing him from behind, and smiled one of his widest smiles as Margaret proved him right. She would be a tender wife, on top of a passionate, lively one. One that would not let her attitudes be dictated by society's idea of what is proper.

At the breakfast table, Margaret blushed thinking back to her recent boldness. She had missed his company terribly, and was not ashamed to admit that now that they were engaged, she could not see any reason to not spend all of her time near him. As she had wrapped herself around his back, he had grabbed both of her hands into his, and placed them flat on his stomach. She could not remember having ever felt so peaceful. "Dear, sweet Margaret!" he whispered. She relinquished him, and stepped in front of him. She looked up to his compelling eyes, so soft that day. "Tomorrow?" she asked, "I have missed you so, and cannot bear to wait too long. We could announce it to my aunt before luncheon." He raised his hand to slowly graze her cheek, moving down to her neck and touching a curl of hair there. "Most certainly. I only wish we did not have to wait so long, and be separated until the wedding." They had then talked swiftly about when they could reasonably expect to be married, at the earliest. It seemed a month would have to pass, after which she would arrive in Milton. Her staying at his house, even under the chaperonage of his mother, could not be proper for more than a few days.

They had merely sat down in the morning room that a servant announced a visitor. Mr Thornton entered, and Margaret's aunt turned to her in surprise. What could possibly explain his early visit? Margaret merely smiled, greeted him, and gestured for him to take a chair. "Aunt, said Margaret, Mr Thornton is visiting us, for we have an announcement to make. There is no one for him to ask my hand to, but myself, and I gave it to him whole-heartedly." The shock in her aunt's face was most visible for a few second, but her many decades in London society had taught her well, and she politely retreated to an expression of moderate-enough delight. She congratulated them both, and declared, as Margaret's only living family, that she would host a dinner the next day to properly announce it to their relations. The rest of the morning was spent discussing wedding plans. Mr. Thornton took his leave then, allowing himself, now that theirs was a public attachment, to press her hands upon his departure. His eyes told her he would rather have kissed her lips. His eyes assured her – a shiver went down Margaret's spine – that he would make up for it at their earliest convenience.

"Margaret, I can hardly hide my shock. You and this man! When did this come about?"

"Dear aunt, I know you disapprove of him and of his ways, but my decision is taken, and I wish to be married as soon as possible."

"You will go back to Milton, and make it your home forever? Oh, Margaret, when you could easily find a dozen suitors here in London…In fact, I cannot remain silent. You do realize Mr Thornton is presently penniless, and your marriage would make him rich again. How can you be so blind? He obviously means to start his mill again with your money."

"He most certainly does, since that was my offer to him."

"Your offer? Do you mean to tell me that you proposed to him? Made him obliged to you so that he would marry you? What could possibly motivate your actions?"

"Far from it, aunt. You see, I will be the first to admit to not always have cared for Mr Thornton. He was as cold and rough as I could ever imagine, and we disagreed on every single matter. He proposed to me, months ago, when mama and papa were still with us, and I refused him. Quite vehemently, if I may add."

"And you changed your mind? Did he propose to you again?"

"He did not, and I cannot quite explain my change of heart. All I can say is, I did not know him as well as I do now. I misjudged him, and had all kind of prejudices. He has proven to me repeatedly that he is more of a gentleman than any man I have known before. To be quite honest, I do not know when I realized it, but there were moments of jealousy, and then there was the fact that I missed him when I left Milton. I do not know if he would ever summon the courage to profess his attachment again, given how bitterly I had refused him. So when I learned of his troubles, I made plans to offer my financial support. I hoped he would understand my motives, and I am so terribly happy that he did."

It was quite a long conversation to be having with her aunt, and yet Margaret owed it to her, as her last remaining close relative, as the woman who had raised her. She knew her to be conceited, she also knew her to be a good judge of character. The prejudice for her dislike of Mr Thornton, she could hardly do anything against. On the personal level, she hoped to appeal to her attachment to her, and that her aunt would see the reasons for her decision. "Well, Margaret, that is quite a story. I dare say someone who could persist so long in loving my dear niece, after having been rejected thus, can only be honored and respected for it. I will gladly welcome him in the family. But let us not waste any more time: we have your trousseau to take care of!"

The dinner was to be the last time they saw each other in what would surely feel like too long, so they were intent on enjoying it. That morning, she had received a letter from him.

"Dearest Margaret,

I so look forward to seeing you tonight, even though it is now official that I will have to leave for Milton the next morning. I shall miss you terribly, in case I do not get the chance to properly express that to you tonight. How long this month will be! Although it could never be as long as the previous months that I did not see you, during which I thought I would never have the chance to see you again, nevermind hold you, kiss you, and claim you as my own. I, on the other hand, am already yours. Love,

John"

When he appeared in their sitting room that night, he was a different Mr Thornton to everybody else. He was carefree and warm, and smiled quite often. Aunt Shaw could not quite believe such a transformation. Since they were now publicly engaged, they were freer to talk to one another, and he had to do himself violence to leave her side enough times to be respectable. As a guest started playing the piano, and the whole room paid attention, he sat down next to her again, as she was isolated on a chaise longue in the back of the room, and took her hand in his own. He leaned down and whispered "Margaret, it seems we won't get a single minute alone this evening." His voice, and the special intonation it took when he was speaking to her only, reached deep into her stomach, and made everything warm. A blush came to her neck, which he swiftly touched, after checking that their fellow guests were still occupied by the music. "I brought you something." With his other hand, he dipped into his chest pocket, and, softly, dropped it into her hand. She looked down, and saw a ring, simple, and warm, from having been held so close to his body for this time. "Thank you, John." "I am John, now, then?", he chuckled lightly. She still held the ring in her hand. He picked it up, looked around to check that they were not observed, and he placed it slowly on her finger. He leaned closer once more, one last time, his lips less than an inch from her throat, "Never forget how I love you, Margaret." He closed the gap for a single second, and kissed her there. "This, my love, is only the beginning."


	3. Chapter 3

Every day, without a miss, she received a letter from him, and responded immediately. It felt like the least she could do to feel him as close as possible, when they were to be separated for so long. She had missed him significantly upon leaving Milton months ago, but it was a different kind of absence; they did not mean so much to each other then. How strange, now, to call him her future husband, and be so far away. How curious, she thought, that I will soon be his. Margaret had no illusions: she was an intelligent, resourceful young woman, she had found ways to get the information she needed. She had, mostly, asked Edith.

 _Oh, Margaret, what if mother comes in! Do you know, she actually did not tell me any useful thing about it before my own wedding. I only understood I was to get intimate with him, that night, and she said it would be quite painful, but that it soon would hurt less. I thought, how odd, why would you do that if it really is painful? I hated the idea of being in pain, you know me. But Margaret, Sholto is every so charming, and I was only looking forward to being alone with him. Do not you blush! You brought it up yourself! It's the most wonderful feeling, Margaret! And they move above you in such a… bestial … way. It's like you leave your body for a while, and come back later. And he just gets so happy afterwards. I hardly think something that feels so nice could ever be really wrong! Don't you agree?_

Since their conversation, Margaret felt reassured. After all, if two people as careless as Edith and Captain Lennox could find happiness in the act, she was not nervous enough to think it would be an entirely different experience for her. The physics of it, she had known for a while, at least the basics. But it also felt foreign, as if she could not imagine how to get to that point. It was bound to feel a bit forced, was it not? And then at night, she would lie in bed reading over his letters, and she could not help it. That warm, tingly feeling in the pit of her stomach. She read his words. _If only I could write all the things I feel, only it would be quite improper_. That man! He would drive her mad with his seductive implications. _My bed will only be my own for ten more days until it is ours._ That she was expected to share a bed with a man was an odd fancy. One minute, you are all dressed and proper in society, the next you call him by his Christian name, and then, there you are, sharing their bed in your bedclothes. How odd of a custom. But then, she thought of the muscles she had glimpsed once, under her hands, when he put her fingers flat on his stomach, and she felt it tighten under her touch. The flush creeped through her body and made her skin burn. She would be able to see him. And he would touch her.

Mr Thornton was driven by his newfound happiness: in three weeks, he had managed to settle the affairs for the reopening of Malborough Mills, had re-hired his workers, and met with the other masters. His mother, upon learning of Margaret's offer, and of the reversal of situation, had remained silent for a while. So that was that girl's worth, then. She could not deny her gratefulness, and bitterly resented what she had known for a long time now: it was now a fact, Miss Hale loved her son. Her motherly pride saw the rightfulness of it all: even in his reduced circumstances, she would marry him, and also save the mill. It would be difficult to dislike her now. She could see the letters that left for her every day. They would be quite a couple, and he seemed happier than she ever saw him before. She had then taken it upon herself to plan the betrothal. They were to leave immediately for a honeymoon trip in the Lake District.

Mr Thornton hardly ever slept at night anymore. It was all he could do to stop touching himself to actually write to her, and yet he was running out of ways to express how he felt without being explicit and scaring her. In only three days, she would arrive, and two days later they would be married in a simple ceremony. He would go meet her at the train station, and they would be alone for a whole cab ride then.

He was nervous, as he knew of the candidness of women, whether southern or northern, in these ways of the body. He lay awake planning how, that night, he would first carefully touch her, what he would do to her, in order to make absolutely sure she would enjoy their coupling and ask for more. He had planned their escape expressively, as far and long as business would allow – which would never be enough, but would have to do. His heart, his tripes, his shaft, all burst at the idea that she would be his, that he would pump in and out of her, that he would see her breasts bounce, that he would make her scream. Oh, please, let her scream.

She saw him then, on the quay, his strong, imposing presence visible from a distance. She could not remember ever having felt so agitated. The train seemed to take forever to bridge the last few meters, and finally came to a screetching halt. He hurried towards her door and opened it wide, his smile as genuine as it would ever be. "I thought this day would never come!" she said. He held out his hand to take hers and help her down the step. They both looked up as they felt the contact, and he grabbed her bag with the other. "We are to take a cab home, it will be a half hour." He murmured, in a low voice. She knew instantly that he meant they would have little alone time in the next few days, and that he was looking forward to that half hour for that reason. They proceeded, her arm hooked in his, and found the cab waiting. He helped her up, one hand, she noticed, on her waist, lingering there. He swiftly hopped inside, sat next to her in the tight space, closed the small blinds – he had chosen the carriage wisely - and closed the door.

"John, I have missed you terribly. We shall never be separated that long again!" He looked into her eyes, and she saw as much tenderness there as longing. "I certainly will do my very best," he responded. She could tell he was subdued, and she took both of his hands into hers, "Only two days, and we will be man and wife," he said, relaxing into her hold, interlacing their fingers. He looked at her, waiting to be invited. Her lips were parted, her breating came short: "I cannot wait," she answered. He leaned in closer, and kissed her, softly at first, and then urgently. He moved his left hand to cup her jaw, and left the right one in her own. The kiss was growing heated, and nothing was to stop them for a full twenty minutes or so. She felt emboldened by the way his lips parted her own, warm all over, and she could not help it: she moved the hand she held to her left breast. He growned, and leaned back suddenly. His eyes were dazed and his mouth was half open. She blushed even more, as he seemed to be undressing her with his eyes, as his hand began to feel around the curve of her breast, cupping it, and then covering it entirely. "Margaret… you will be the end of me, I swear." She started to feel, as he massaged her breast and looked at her, what Edith had tried to express so fervently. That power, of a man desiring you. More, even, the power of _that man_ desiring her. He had been constant, persistant but not insistant, the strength of his admiration and passion a background to all her actions for as long as she could remember. She also recalled the loneliness and despair she had felt when she thought he did not love her any longer. There could not be, she thought, two people more deserving of one another as them, perhaps. "John, I love you."

Something in his eyes shifted, and he moved his hand away, in second he was kneeling on the floor, bowing her head to her knees, smelling and touching her skirt, her hips, her waist. He kissed her knees on top of the heavy fabric of her skirt and she thought she would melt. He looked up, with such devotion she wondered if he saw the same look mirrored in her eyes. He raised himself up, still kneeling, but moved closer, parting her knees slightly, as far as the fabric would go. It was a full skirt. When he was close enough, he bowed his head down to kiss her neck, holding her steady at her waist. He then lowered his lips to her cleavage, kissing as much of her skin as was out there. 'Margaret… (he kissed lower) Margaret… do you… look forward to being mine… in that way?' He did not dare look up as he could feel her shiver under his ministrations. She sighed "Yes, she said, I do, especially in that way." He did not think he had ever felt this much joy and pride. He looked up, his eyes dark and cloudy: "Is there anything I could do… in the meantime… to make you more comfortable?"

She took his hand then, and kiss it. Driven by her instinct, she led him to sit back next to her, and she was daring enough to look him in the eyes as she said "I want to touch you, to see what it is like." He could hardly believe it. "Margaret…" he hesitated. He looked at his pocket watch. "We have ten minutes left at best." She smiled a mischievous smile, and her hand found her way to his high, and grabbed it. His breath came in short. They could both see his erection blatantly straining his trousers. She covered it with her hand, a surprised, curious look on her face, her mouth half open in concentration. "Margaret" he gasped, "that's almost too much." She felt up his length and her eyes widened. "I do not want to sound uneducated or prudish, John, but how is that supposed to…fit?" He understood what she meant, and shifted closer to her if possible. Leaning down, he gathered up her skirt and let his right hand go softly but swiftly up her leg, his eyes never leaving hers, as she pressed harder on his erection. He found an opening in her underclothes, and immediately felt the blazing heat of the curls she had there. He put his mouth on her neck and murmured "Are you comfortable, Margaret?" She hissed "Yes, please, John." And he moved his fingers down, making contact with her wetness. "This, Margaret, do you feel how wet you are? It is for me, but it is also for you, it helps me – she started to pump him as well as she could over his trousers – slide inside of you – he slid a finger inside – like so." She moaned, wanting more. He added a finger "You feel that, my love? There is plenty of space in there – he pumped in and out as she moaned her approval – for me to do exactly that." Their movements became frantic, as he now kissed her fervently. He could tell she loved it, and her hand on his erection felt divine. He would not last long, but he knew she was almost reaching a climax herself. Her touch became feather like, but he did not mind, he was already meeting her with his hips, as she moaned with each of his own pumps, moving her hips languidly. He brought his other hand to her mouth and muzzled her just as she cried out loud. He let himself go then, which felt hollow but also like the promise of more to come, soon. He nuzzled her neck, "I cannot wait – he murmured – to move inside of you." She brought her hand to his jaw and carressed it, "Come, John, let's clean up as best we can, we must almost be there."


	4. Chapter 4

Chapter IV

Mr. Thornton closed the door behind him, and went straight to the window. He could not believe what had happened in the carriage. He brought both of his hands to his face, breathing in the smell of her most intimate place, and felt, once more, his need and desire burn a path from his stomach to his groin. How could he, who, before, had never cared for women, never given them a second look, how could he put himself in such a state? If before, when she had rejected him, he had felt sharply the pain of his unrequited passion, and discovered himself to be a passionate man, he now discovered an even wilder side of him, one sharpened by her love. In the early days of their engagement, he had felt elated, joyful, positively happy, and mesmerized by the idea that she would be his wife. But now, after a long separation, every feeling was multiplied, every sensation too. The more curious and sensual she proved herself to be, the more anxious he got. He was a proud, confident man, but his experience in that area that he had until then all but dimissed seemed to lack desperately. Of course, he knew how the act was supposed to go, and he had grown to master and tailor his own needs and desires to the necessity of his lonely, powerful position. All he had to show for it were a few visits to a special house, in London, one where he risked being recognized less, where he had, over the course of ten years, given way to his primal need for purely bestial intercourse; it had always been short, and perfunctory. The only way in which he would allow himself to visit such a place was if it was merely to serve his need. He knew, already, the power that intimacy could have if it was enjoyed to a point of leisure, comfort and sensuality, and could not bear to be so indulgent to himself, or to some unknown woman. He was very aware, however, that this was an insufficient education in the loving, intimate way in which he needed to be with Margaret. How would he balance, he wondered, his carnal, rough taste, with what Margaret would want, and what could see himself want too, a loving, slow, langorous intimacy? Could he restrain himself, now that she had given free reign to his passion by responding to his love?

They had had a narrow escape, managing to bring about their dishevelled state to a presentable appearance. Margaret did not seem to notice how scandalous their position had been, and he was surprised at the way she dissimulated their escapade to his mother when they saluted each other on the porch. Was it possible, then, that he was the faint-hearted one? The one who would fear to blush or that one look at her would be his undoing in front of everybody? They had gone up the stairs, and his mother had made polite conversation with Margaret, welcoming her into the house, and showing her around the rooms. It was almost time for dinner, and they were to go and change before. He had let his mother show Margaret her room, mostly, if he was honest, because he would not trust himself to leave her alone in there and not take full advantage of the situation. How would he sleep, tonight, knowing that she was but meters away, lying in the soft sheets that would caress her figure, all the plump angles and curves that he started to know, the mapping of which he would make his lifetime achievement?

In her room, Margaret was no less flustered. She was powerless to explain, even to herself, what had just happened, but she could not help smiling; it would be a lie to pretend that she had not been nervous, and extremely ashamed at her lack of knowledge, as to what was to happen between them once they were married. She now recognized that, from the very beginning of their acquaintance, he had attracted her with his magnetic charm, his sometimes cold poise, his hidden softness of character, his smile. What she failed to understand was how much power the sentiment itself had over her, over both of them, it seemed. She had, of course, heard other women talk of marital duties like a rite of passage, a moment that was all for the husband's pleasure and for the conception of children. She had been dumbfounded as to how being naked with such an attractive man as John, having him kiss you like he had, and do other things, could ever be unpleasant. She had then determined that it must be painful, and had hoped it would not be too much. But after the carriage, she had less of these apprehensions – she was certain no pain could ever counterbalance such pleasure enough to not be a frequent feature of their marriage – and other ones; she had guessed, somehow, that he had experience, where she did not, and was not sure what to assume or think about it. She could only feel ashamed at the situation that necessarily always left women to be passive instead of equals, in such matters. How unfair, that he could arrive in their union with a knowledge of how to make her feel all this, and all she could do was touch his member and be awed at the whole thing. She resolved, then, that she would, with as much care as possible, get the answers she needed tonight.

Dinner was a quiet affair; they had the details of the wedding to go over with his mother, listing the errands and details that still had to be sorted. It was only two more days now. Two more nights of sleeping in a bed alone. They retreated in the parlor for an hour, as was customary, and she took up some embroidery, and made a point to ask Mrs Thornton how she did such and such a point, showing her that she could teach her some thing, perceiving that in such a whirlwind as their engagement and imminent marriage had been, the stern lady felt unsure of her place. Mrs Thornton's attitude toward her was now almost fully warm. It seemed the happiness she had seen in her son, while privately upsetting, could not help but make her feel grateful that Margaret had returned his love, and saved the mill. John would just be sharing a few words, sometimes, reading his book. Sometimes, she could tell he was looking at her, in that way, like she was wearing no clothes, and she felt like she could have melted on her chair, frozen under his gaze. Would he never behave?

Mrs Thornton was the first to announce that it was time for her to retire to her bedchamber, severely implying that it would be time for them to go too, so they would not remain alone in the room, prey to the servants's gossip and their obvious need to be closer. She was not born yesterday, and yet she fully trusted her son's restraint and sense of propriety and respect to expect anything else than a normal good night hand shake and the subsequent retreat to their respective rooms. There was no reason to expect anything else from a gentleman's daughter and her respectable son. They exchanged a disappointed gaze, and proceeded to say their good night wishes. He smiled, and led her up the stairs, turning to his room. "I dare hope you like your room, Miss Hale," he attempted. "If I did not, it would not matter, since it will merely be my bedchamber for two nights, before I join yours." He swallowed and unconsciously took a step back. His mother's footsteps could be heard in her room, which was down the hall. He lowered his voice, as usual, sending shivers down her spine, "Margaret, I can hardly breathe properly when you say things like that. You will have to stop, if you want to make it to our wedding night any less touched than you have been already." She smiled widely. "Goodnight, mister Thornton." He touched her hand briefly, "May your dreams be pleasant, Miss Hale."

She undressed slowly, giving him ample time to be surprised by her introduction into his room, and giving Mrs Thornton time to fall asleep. She did not pull down her hair from the intricate updo it was in. She slipped on her nightgown, hiding the revealing nightshirt underneath, breathed in, and, with as much calm as she could muster, quietly slipped out her door, and made her way slowly to his own. She did not wish to wake up Mrs Thornton or alter her, so she rasped furtively at the door, hoping he would hear it, otherwise, she would have to come in unannounced. She heard some shuffling then, and a few footsteps, and he opened the door, his face all surprise and incomprehension at her state of undress. He opened his mouth to speak, but she silenced him once more by merely stepping inside his room, and closing the door behind her. "What are you…Margaret… I am ashamed to have to tell you this, but you must leave, as I am not sure I can trust myself to be alone with you, not after today…" As he spoke, he retreated slowly to a chair that was near the fire. Her eyes were roaming his body, telling him that she did not care. While she was merely wearing a gown that covered her perhaps more than a regular day gown, she had never seen him in that state. She did not think she had ever found him as attractive as right now. His stubble drew a shadow on the angles of his face, softening it somehow, and he had taken off his jacket, and his cravat. She stepped closer to him, towering above him, and he knew then, just like perhaps he knew on the very first day, that she would silence him thus whenever she wanted and pleased, for as long as they should live. This is perhaps the key, he thought, to my doubts. She reached out to graze his cheek, still silent. She did not know how to start. "What do you need, Margaret?" he asked, and lowered his gaze to her feet. He noticed her ankles then, he had not looked at them properly in the carriage, in the rush. She followed his gaze. "I wish to understand, John." He looked up, straining to let her say what she needed, but desperately needing to touch her ankles. He reached out one hand then, and gently made contact with the skin of her ankle, "Your wish is my command, love." She breathed, "I wish to know more about the experience you seem to have in such matters as these."

He looked up in distress, abruptly afraid that he had lost her because he had revealed himself too much, in the carriage. "Do not misunderstand me. I would not dare hope that a man your age, a man as… passionate as you… would remain chaste like a maid. But do not however assume that I am comfortable with that imbalance, and that my curiosity is not awakened. I wish to enter this aspect of our relationship with no doubts about how we can be more equal, with that asymmetry." He nodded, spell-bound, and moved from his chair to kneel in front of her, grabbing both of her ankles. "I am ashamed, dear Margaret. I have told you in the past that I had never loved a woman before, and that is the truth. I love you most ardently, and I never thought such a feeling was a possibility for me. I was never interested." He caressed the curve of her calf then, almost absent-mindedly, needing the contact to continue. "The only experience I have is one I am ashamed of. You must understand. I had never contemplated marriage as a possibility, and thought the only relief I would deserve were base ones, hidden away, without affection or love. Surely you must know, I would never have touched these women if I had but known you then. Even then, I only went a few times. I have loved you from the first second. Please, forgive my youthful imprudence." He dared not look up at her, and all he could do was grab her hand and kiss it softly, reverently. She took some time to think, to ponder how she felt. These were possibly the longest minutes of his life. For to have almost had her and then lost her would hurt a hundred times more than her original rejection, when he had not tasted her lips, or watched her reach her peak. He kept her hand on his cheek, and she felt him trembling thus.

She sat in the chair he had left, and took both of his hands in hers. "Thank you for being so honest. I had imagined so much worse… I am not fully certain yet how this makes me feel. I feel relieved that you did not love another woman. I feel relieved that you had no mistress. Is that strange of me? To prefer to think of you having been with a few nameless women instead of genuinely attracted to a single one? I do not wish to speak more about them now." He let a sigh leave him that he had until now kept in. "Margaret, you are the strangest, most incredible creature I have ever known. Please allow me to explain. I have told you before how, as a young lad, I was thrown into being responsible and the sole breadwinner for my family. I think my character has been shaped my that more than by my years of carefree childhood, of course. I sometimes felt trapped, knowing marriage was not an option since I despised all the women I knew, and knowing that, despite my physical, human need, I could not satisfy it. I resolved to do what many men do, althought others go very frequently, and often even after they marry. Margaret, I promise you, the minute you put your arms around me, there was never going to be another woman I would want to touch." He dared not touch her yet, but he raised his hand to her face, and moved it, seamlessly, an inch from her flesh, down her sides, tracing the curves. She seemed mesmerized by this. "I can live with that," she chuckled, too much under his spell to be upset, not sure she even actually was. He loved only her. Was not she lucky that he had not supported an actress, seen a married woman, taken advantage of some shop girl? Certainly, harlots were a taboo, but she was smart enough to recognize that they had a role in such a restrictive society – one that almost condemned her to marry an almost complete stranger for trying to save his life. One that would not allow a young woman to walk with a male friend after dark, if it were not a member of her family. She told him so, softly. As she spoke, he thought he would never tire of being able to discuss such matters so freely with her, to criticize society's expectations, to challenge them together. After all, had they not been entirely reckless and free in that carriage?

"What can I do, love, to make up for that imbalance? What would you like to know?" She smiled then, and touched his neck, where the cravat usually obstructed it, and grazed his skin all the way down to his chest, where the chemise lay open. "Show me how to please you," she requested, trembling, but her face and bearing more queen-like than ever. He thought he would spontaneously combust on that moment. "Margaret, as much as I love to hear that you wish to please me, I do not feel that our conversation has led to a feeling of worthiness of my part. You are a queen, full of grace and beauty, and I feel now but a fool, driven by a sort of animal need to do things I now regret." She blushed, and looked deeply into his eyes then. She leaned down, to better show him she meant her request, her fingers left his chest to get to her own, and open her gown to reveal her nightdress. She then kissed him, a few times, taking his bottom lip in between both of hers, seeing he would not be easily convinced. "John, please, what do you mean, animal need? Show me"

His blood boiled at her words, "My love," he grasped her ankles firmly this time, "I say animal because this is what it felt like for me to be with these women, since there was no love. It was not slow, it was not gentle, and I am afraid now that I would not know how to restrain myself with you, for I want to worship you, not ravish you." He spread her legs then, and brought the nightdress up, to make his way to her center, pulsing wildly for him already, so wet. "But when I feel you so wet, for me, I risk losing all control," he panted, still looking at her straight in the eyes, "and I must rein myself in for I want to please you so much more than I want to please myself." He touched her then, as he had before. She gasped and laid her head back on the cushioned chair, "Oh John, I felt the same way…" she panted, "when I first felt your member, rigid as it was. I felt that it was for me, in some very primal way, and it made me want to…" he started circling the nub with his thumb, she moaned loudly, "It made you want to do what, love?" She blushed even deeper, and stood up abruptly, only to slip down on her knees to face him. She licked her lips, and reached out to his breeches, "It made me want to rip your breeches off, John." He fell back on his behind then, bracing one hand on his side, opening his legs up, frozen in place. She reached inside then, and freed his erected member, fascinated at the sight.

Looking questioningly into his eyes, she encircled it with her right hand, and he hissed. He brought his left hand back to her thight then, and made contact with her wet heat once more. She moaned, "What should I do now, John?" He smiled, "You do want to know everything, Margaret." She moaned and started to move her hand up and down. "Well, love, there are several ways, as you have seen earlier today, to reach your peak. One of them is the marital way, where I penetrate your heat" – he introduced two fingers all at once – "with my member" – he felt her hand go tighter around him, and it felt too delicious to say anything, for a few moments. She moaned and panted loudly now, moving herself over his hand, and only imagining her doing the same over his cock, he almost came. "Or there is the pleasure given with the hands" he then mimicked it by circling her nub simultaneously, as he moved his fingers in and out of her. She moved to kiss him, impatient, realizing she still had not fully kissed him that night. He introduced his tongue in her open mouth then, and she understood, that all those movements they made where mirrors of one another, a frantic dance for their bodies to get together for the maximum pleasure possible. How wonderful, she thought, as they kept exploring each other, that our bodies have been created that way. She told him so, too, wanting to share her thoughts with him to rectify the balance as well. He only accelerated his movements, then, "I agree…And then, the third way, is the pleasure given with the mouth." She stopped kissing him then, with a questioning look. "Do you mean to tell me…" she moaned again at his ministrations, "that we can reach the peak by kissing each other." He grinned then, "In a way, Margaret," he was almost there himself, pushing himself into her hand, feeling his balls tightening in the familiar way, and he let go, giving a deep and long moan and taking himself into his own hand to prevent her from being scared at his ejaculation. She was fascinated, and he still kept two fingers suspended into her, filling her. He caught his breath then, and moved quickly sit her in front of him, in a better position, her back against his chest. He kissed her neck then, and quickly moved his right hand back into her, starting over his caresses, his left hand pressed against her left breast. She leaned her head back on his shoulder, completely in his power, moaning softly. When she started to push herself into his hand again, he did not accelerate, only gripped her left breast firmly, and chose his moment to whisper into her ear, "Yes my love, except what I'm doing with my fingers now, I plan on doing with my mouth tomorrow." At his words, a deep, slow shiver started to overtake her, and he quickly moved his hand over her mouth, to stiffle a proper cry. He let her recover, panting, and he kissed her deeply. "Now go back to your room, Margaret, before I take you here and now."


End file.
